Unwelcome Surprises: A Fabinx Fic!
by TheFisherKitty
Summary: Mary and Marshall make one unsavory discovery after another. Contains a fair bit of M&M friendship/attraction, jumps headfirst into the murky waters of Faber/Jinx. Now rated M for sexual content that some may find blinding. Complete!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own In Plain Sight, but I will do abominable things with the characters!**

**Author's Note: Everyone's waiting for another chapter of Fish Out of Water, which will be forthcoming as soon as I stop feverishly sweating at night instead of sleeping, so hopefully tomorrow. Being sick is so annoying! In the meantime, here's a little something I whipped up over on LiveJournal. I hope it helps to tide y'all over until then!**

**Warnings: Contains brief nudity without description, an implied sexual act in a humorous context, and lewd banter. F-word is used once. Strong T, but I'm not rating M because I don't want to imply more than there is. Read at your own discretion! =P**

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**Unwelcome Surprises: A Fabinx Fic!**

**Part 1 - Try Not to Look Directly At It  
**

Mary rocketed out of the government SUV, eager to be free from its confines. She'd been on the road for six hours straight after relocating a particularly annoying witness. The man had talked both her and Marshall's ears off for the duration of the trip out, so much so that for the duration of the return trip even Marshall had been quiet, willingly allowing the thrumming of the engine to blanket them in a white noise that was reasonably close to silence. The entire trip had been horribly irritating, and Mary wanted nothing more than pizza and beer.

Something she felt was a distinct upside, however, was the fact that she was now able to entertain Marshall in the comfort of her own home. She really didn't understand why people went on about the loneliness of an empty nest; sure, she occasionally missed her mother and sister, but she would never miss the messes, the drama, and the surprises of a Pearl Harbor nature. That, and she could finally repay all the times she'd enjoyed his hospitality.

She found her living room warm, welcoming, and blissfully empty, bathed in the light of the late-afternoon sun. Plopping her ready bag on the floor and chucking her keys on the table, Mary flopped onto the couch and heaved a sigh. She was so tense that the effort of trying to unwind was almost painful. Relaxation didn't seem like it should be that hard.

Marshall followed her in, his own bag in hand as he planned to use her shower after the long drive. Her eyes followed his progress discreetly; she couldn't help but notice how good he looked in the warm glow of the room. It was really good lighting for him, she decided. Not that she'd tell him that. No, she was content to enjoy the show secretly, for now.

He was halfway to the bathroom when he froze; there had been a scraping sound like furniture on concrete and what sounded like a stifled scream, and the sound had come from Mary's backyard. He looked to her with alarm, and with a shake of her head as she reached for her gun, she informed him that no one else was supposed to be there. How her real identity could have gotten leaked, she had no idea, but the risk of danger was ever present. Marshall silently put down his bag and drew his own weapon, allowing her to slip past him before they approached the back door.

In truth, he hated letting her go first; it increased the likelihood that she'd be the one to take a bullet instead of him, and he'd rather be shot than face that nightmare again, but her smaller frame made it possible for both of them to gain a line of sight in close quarters. That, and it was her house. Though he was nearly as familiar with it as he was his own, she was extremely territorial and would resent not being allowed to take point in defense of her home.

Mary's heart pounded in her ears as they reached the door, each taking a position on opposite sides of it. Her training kept her collected, but she was enraged at the idea that someone would invade her newly reclaimed property. Her adrenaline would have been running high anyway, given the situation, but the circumstances had her doubly pissed.

Marshall put his hand on the doorknob, looking to her for a nod before he lightly twisted it and pushed the door open. Mary rounded the frame, bringing her weapon to bear as Marshall took up a firing position behind her.

Jinx screamed in terror as she stared down the barrel of her daughter's gun, digging her fingers into the mess of salt-and-pepper hair nestled between her thighs. The owner of the mistreated mop, dressed in khaki shorts and a shirt with parrots all over it, yelped in pain at the abuse befalling his head. He pulled back, trying to see what was going on and fumbling, as an officer of the law might, for a holster he wasn't wearing.

"What the hell is going on here?" Mary yelped, fully aware that she'd just caught some guy in her backyard going downtown on her mother, but unable to process that fact. The man looked up and smiled winningly, his shoulders sagging in relief as he realized he probably wasn't about to get shot.

"Oh, hello, Kitten," Faber greeted Mary, still grinning and apparently believing himself to be suave.

Jinx yanked her sarong back into place, but not quickly enough. Mary caught movement in her periphery and found Marshall blushing like a lobster and looking away, holding a hand up to shield his eyes for good measure.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" she asked, holstering her weapon as she turned back to Faber, aghast as the pieces of what she'd seen started fitting together in her head. This had to be the end result of a disastrous combination of their mutual tendency toward random, undesired visits.

"Well, Mary, we were just looking at my old vacation brochures," Jinx spoke up, gesturing unconvincingly to the file box where it sat on an empty pool chair; the brochures within looked completely undisturbed since Mary had seen them last.

"Yeah, I'm on vacation myself," Faber added, plucking at his horrendous Hawaiian-parrot shirt. "What do you think?"

"I think my backyard is a screwy choice of vacation destination," Mary replied with a glare.

"Please, Kitten, the pool at your mom's place is way too public. They definitely don't encourage visits to the Deep South, if you know what I mean."

Mary heard Marshall gag softly behind her. He muttered something about excusing himself and vanished into the house.

"You know what?" Mary snapped. "While I find it wrong on so many levels that you're apparently doing my mom, when all is said and done, I don't really care that much. You're both consenting adults and I really wasn't that interested in you anyway."

She paused, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. "However, I'm going to make one thing perfectly clear. My home, my yard, and my pool are not the Love Boat. They are the Champagne Room. And as you may recall, there is no sex in the Champagne Room!"

"Mary, I'm so terribly embarrassed," Jinx began. Mary had no doubt her mother was embarrassed, though she doubted very much that she was actually as contrite as her tone implied.

"Aren't we all?" she replied, a sarcastic smile plastered on her face. "Now, why don't you both get the hell out of my yard so I can go inside, order a pizza, and pretend this never happened?"

"No need to get bent out of shape, Kitten," Faber grinned, having enough nerve to eye her up and down as he led her mother by the hand to the gate.

"Ooh, Mike, we can go back to my place to finish your oral exam, if you want to," Jinx giggled, acting as if Mary couldn't hear. "I know I do."

"Well, Doll, it's been said that I'm quite the cunning linguist," he oozed in return as the gate fell shut behind them.

Heaving a long suffering sigh, Mary plodded back into the house. It just figured that Faber could come up with more than one disgusting nickname for a woman.

She found her partner sitting on a chair at the kitchen island, staring blankly at the granite, his face now so pale that he looked like he might be sick. Mary walked past him and began rummaging in the cupboards.

"I can't believe… your mother… and Faber," he finally spoke.

"Yeah, I know. I can't wrap my head around it either," she stated as she drew back from the cupboard with two shot glasses and a bottle of whiskey in her hands.

"I think… I think I saw your mom's…" Marshall trailed off, a haunted look in his eyes as he watched her pour for them both and knock her shot back.

"Box of misery?" she asked, continuing at his answering nod. "Stronger men than you have been driven to drink by the sight of it," she said consolingly as she put his shot in front of him. He picked it up with trembling fingers and tossed his head back as he downed the liquor.

"Listen, Mare," he said a moment later, "do you mind if I take that shower now? I feel… kinda…"

"Dirty?" she finished for him; he nodded again, still looking disturbed and rather out of it. "Yeah, go ahead."

Without another word, Marshall stood up almost robotically and made for the bathroom, picking up his abandoned ready bag on the way. Mary pursed her lips, contemplating the events of the afternoon while she listened to the sound of running water from the shower. Sure, it had been a shock, and it wouldn't be funny anytime in the immediate future, but this was something she could eventually picture herself having a laugh over someday… provided it didn't happen again.

Picking up the phone, Mary dialed for pizza. Once she placed their usual order, feeling a little thrill at having it sent to her address for once, she pulled a couple of beers out of the fridge and carried them to the living room, setting them on the coffee table. She walked over to the DVD rack and browsed her selection.

Immediately, a title jumped out at her. _American Pie. _She was pretty sure it belonged to Brandi; at least, she knew it wasn't hers. She remembered watching it with her sister once. There had been a scene where one of the characters had walked in on his mom doing one of his high school classmates… _How appropriate, _Mary thought. She pulled the case from the shelf and moved to the DVD player to put the disc in, just in time to hear the shower shut off.

Fifteen minutes later, Marshall was sitting next to her on the couch, dressed casually in an untucked button-down shirt and blue jeans, hair combed but still wet, and she was leaning against him as he giggled at the opening scene of the movie. The beer was cold, the flick was funny, pizza was on its way, and Marshall smelled good. Mary smiled. Things were already on their way back to normal.

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**A/N: Let me know what you think! Part 2 will be the reward for those with a raunchy enough sense of humor to enjoy this! =P**

**And don't worry, my other in-progress fics are still on deck, I'm just too sick to give them the attention they deserve. They'll be back when I am well! =)  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I neither own In Plain Sight nor can be held accountable for the psychological trauma this story may inflict. =P**

**Author's Note: By popular demand, the horror continues!**

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**Unwelcome Surprises: A Fabinx Fic!**

**Part 2 - What Happens in Vegas Follows You Home**

Mary was feeling a little tightly wound. That it had gotten to the point where she would even admit it to herself was a bad sign; usually, she would just snipe and snark at whomever was unfortunate enough to be nearby, maintaining plausible deniability of her own tension until she'd blown off enough steam to finally relax. She never understood why Marshall was such a willing emotional punching bag to her Sugar Ray Leonard method of venting, but there he was, right by her side as they checked into a small motel a short way off from the Las Vegas Strip. She'd surpassed even her own abilities, however; she's spent most of the ride there picking at him, and she had nothing left, bone-tired that she was.

It had been yet another annoying witness transport. Generally, Mary preferred to drive for the portion of the trip when the witness was in the car, because she could and would refuse the majority of the witness's requests to stop. This woman, though, had been one of Marshall's, a witness he treated with kid gloves. It seemed she had suffered from horrendous allergies ever since she'd settled in Albuquerque, and after months of begging, he had arranged her relocation to Seattle. Las Vegas had been the hand-off point to her new team of inspectors.

If they switched off, an immediate turnaround was possible even with a drive that was nine hours each way, perhaps only seven or eight for Mary's half. However, they had gotten a very late start owing to the witness's incessant demands and Marshall had not only insisted upon driving the whole way there, he had stopped for every little thing his witness needed, which had added up to far more stops than Mary could ever find tolerable. They had ultimately arrived far too late to drive back that night, although the witness would be kept on the move well into the following day, since her new marshals were apparently feeling a bit itchy about staying at the hand-off point longer than necessary. Mary secretly believed they had lost too much money on the slots while they'd waited, and wanted to get out of Vegas before temptation returned.

Marshall accepted the key card to their room with a weary nod to the flustered clerk, who was only able to provide them one room with two beds and seemed unable to figure out why a man and a woman traveling together would even want separate - but adjoining - rooms. Neither of the marshals particularly cared; it was not unusual for such circumstances to arise, and WITSEC inspectors tended to be highly adaptable. Rules were important, rules kept them and their witnesses alive, but blindly obeying rules could get an inspector or a witness dead just as quickly as unwisely breaking them could. There was one calming thought - it was highly unlikely that this little bend in regs that applied stringently to the rest of the marshal's service would get anyone dead. It would just get them both a place to sleep.

Mary followed her partner into the darkened room. She flipped on the light as he deposited his bag on the floor and flopped back onto the bed nearest the door, coaxing a muffled springing sound from the mattress. He laid there for a moment, sprawled across the bed with his eyes closed, and she couldn't help but notice how vulnerable he looked with his guard down. Or at least, as down as his guard ever got; like herself, he maintained a certain amount of situational awareness at nearly all times.

"Hey, Marshall," she spoke up, causing him to open one lazily attentive eye, "I saw a bar on the next block over when we were driving in. Want to go get a drink?"

"That sounds good," he replied, "if I can actually manage to get up again."

He flopped a hand around in the air, aimed vaguely in her direction, and she grabbed it and helped him haul himself upright. She knew he was more than capable of sitting up on his own, but she also knew that this was his way of expressing how exhausting the trip had been, and of receiving comfort that she might find it more difficult to give in response to a more overt request. She sometimes found herself regretting the fact that she seemed hardwired to cope with minor misery by visiting her own suffering upon others, as she had done during their road trip with snappish complaints and personal nitpicking, but the fact that he would often allow her the opportunity to make up for it in some small way was one of the things about him that she liked best.

The desert night was temperate, so they decided to walk, and neither of them would have to be the designated driver, as an added benefit. The establishment itself was a bit noisy, considering; it was Vegas, after all. Taking that into account, though, the place was pleasant enough, and at least a notch above being considered a dive bar, if only just. They settled into an out of the way booth, where Marshall ordered three fingers of scotch to start the night off while Mary wanted a shot of Jack and a beer.

"No Bloody Mary?" he quipped with a grin. It was a stupid joke, one that got a rise out of her every time, a reaction he had come to think she enjoyed delivering when he was on the receiving end.

"Watch yourself," she answered, sneering with what would have been distaste were it not for the sparkle in her eyes, "or I might find myself in the mood for a Bloody Marshall."

"Any way you want me, bloody or otherwise," he shot back, injecting a bit of lewdness in his tone for good measure.

Mary rolled her eyes. "You wish, doofus."

He chuckled softly as she knocked back her first shot; he sipped his scotch, knowing she'd wait for the second one so he could catch up. It wasn't that he couldn't or wouldn't do shots; when he felt like it, he could match her drink for drink, but at the moment he was in a sipping mood. He wanted to unwind, to draw the process out and savor it.

The evening wore on, and Marshall was starting to feel pleasantly drunk; his partner, if he was any judge of her behavior, and by his own estimation he certainly was, seemed to be feeling it as well. She was hunched forward over the table, regaling him with tales of her college years that had him laughing to the point of tears. He'd heard most of her stories before, at least the funny ones she liked to tell when she was drinking, but there were a few that got him every time.

She was in the middle of the one about the time she had gotten wasted and woke up in the dorm's laundry room to discover she had apparently dressed herself in another girl's freshly washed clothes. Marshall remembered the punch line: she never did find out what happened to the clothes she'd started the night wearing, because wherever they had ended up, they hadn't been in the laundry room. Except Mary never got to the punch line, because at that moment, there came a loud disruption from the bar area.

Marshall looked up, his jaw dropping in disbelief; Mary, the bar behind her, had somewhat less of a vantage point and struggled into a position where she could better see what was going on. She squinted in confusion, trying and failing to sort out what she was seeing.

"Marshall… what am I looking at?" she asked, feeling completely certain that she would not get an answer she actually wanted to hear.

"I'm having a hard time believing this myself, but that woman doing the Coyote Ugly dance on the bar looks exactly like your mother," he replied, utterly baffled. He couldn't even begin to figure the odds that Jinx would be in Vegas at the same time they happened to be there, and yet, there she was, in all her drunken glory or lack thereof.

"What the hell is she doing here?" she murmured as she watched the display in dismay.

"Falling off the wagon, by the look of things," Marshall answered the obviously rhetorical question before taking a sip from his newly refilled glass of scotch.

"Yeah, no kidding," she grumbled, unable to look away from the horror unfolding before her.

"Yeah, Dollface! Shake it like a minx!" a familiar voice shouted as her mother danced. The voice's owner, a man wearing what appeared to be a rented Elvis costume, leaned back on his stool toward the bar so Jinx could pour some variety of liquor into his mouth.

"Oh Jesus, it's Faber!" Mary hissed, her eyes wide.

"What the hell is he wearing?" Marshall asked incredulously. "Is that really an Elvis costume?"

"Yeah, a bad one," his partner scoffed.

Jinx squealed with glee and grabbed the hem of her top; Mary winced, knowing what was to follow. Surely enough, her mother pulled the shirt up, baring her breasts to the hoots and hollers of the bar's inebriated patrons. A choked splutter behind Mary told her that Marshall had been bombarded by the sight in the middle of a sip of scotch.

"And right on schedule, out come the tits," Mary said, turning to him with a sigh as Faber lifted Jinx down from the bar and motor-boated her boobs. "We have to get out of there before they see us or something."

"Body shots!" Faber's voice bellowed enthusiastically from a scene Mary was no longer willing to watch.

Marshall quickly sucked down the remainder of his drink. Escape was now a priority, but he didn't want to sober up anytime soon after what he'd just witnessed. He pulled a few bills from his wallet and slipped out of the booth; training and experience had allowed him to spot the back exit when they'd come in, and Mary followed him as he made a break for it. Their escape to freedom was punctuated by one last squeal from Jinx, presumably as the body shots commenced.

They made their way back to the motel, reasonably certain they had gotten out clean. Being spotted by Jinx and Faber in Las Vegas would have been a disaster; they couldn't claim to be there on business without breaching protocol and security because Faber knew they were in WITSEC, and any other story they could make up as a cover would likely cause both Faber and Jinx to get the wrong idea. It was better to avoid being seen in the first place, although they both wished they could have avoided seeing what they had of Jinx as well.

Mary maneuvered Marshall through the doorway of their room. He'd lost a considerable amount of coordination during the walk back, owning to the fact that he'd downed the last of his liquor in one go. He was also beginning to say things he would ordinarily keep to himself.

"I mean, they were just _there,_" he slurred. "Like a pair of saddlebags. Saddlebags weathered with ill use and the ravages of time."

"Yeah, that's about right," she sighed as she helped him sit on the edge of the bed.

"It was like they were _looking _at me," he continued, beginning to make less sense. "And it's like, _cannot unsee, _or something…" he trailed off, wobbling to one side before Mary pulled him upright again.

"Come on, cowboy," she coaxed, pulling his boots off. "Get into your jammies before you fall asleep. You know how crabby you get when you wake up in your work clothes."

"Sleeping in them stretches them out," he whined as he struggled to comply, working his way out of pants, followed by his shirt.

Mary scooped them off the floor and draped them over the back of a chair; he would fuss over the wrinkles otherwise, and she didn't want to deal with fussy Marshall on top of hung-over Marshall when morning came. By the time she turned back to hand him his pajamas, however, she discovered that he'd already burrowed into the bed, clad in boxers and his undershirt. Presumably his socks as well, Mary realized as she scanned the room and couldn't find them.

She watched him for a moment. He seemed to be asleep, so she took a minute to slip into her sleep clothes. As she finished, she heard him stir; she looked back to find him watching her.

"Jesus, pervis!" she snapped. "What, are you trying to see the younger version, too? Spy on Brandi when we get home and you'll have completed the Shannon Boob Trifecta."

"I didn't see anything," he said softly. "Don't wanna see Brandi's either."

She crossed the room and sat on the edge of his bed, resting her hand on his shoulder. "Just go to sleep, Marshall," she murmured gently.

"Sleep with me?" he asked, his voice quiet but hopeful.

The request wasn't an unfamiliar one; they drank together from time to time, and occasionally he would ask the question in one form or another. He didn't mean sex, though she had little doubt that he wanted that, too. He meant company, warmth, and comfort. Even drunk, it was all he could allow himself to ask of her.

"Okay," Mary nodded, pulling the covers back and scooting in next to him. His strong arms slipped around her, holding her to his chest. She tucked her head under his chin and settled in.

She didn't typically enjoy being held by men, because it felt far too possessive and protective for her liking, but Marshall was different. He was, as far as she was concerned, the only man who had any claim over her, whether it was the job, the fact that she was his partner and his best friend, or something else entirely. It was certainly his job to protect her, at the very least, and she accepted that. Besides, there would be no recriminations later; this was something he wanted, some need he had, and if she got something out of it in the process, there was no foul.

Comforted at the thought of being wanted, Mary slipped into a deep sleep.

* * *

A shrill, womanly scream woke Mary with a start. She blinked, glancing around the room blearily as she peeled the back of Marshall's undershirt from a drool-slick on her face and tried to figure out if she had dreamed the sound. Sitting up, she looked down at her partner. He was sleeping on his stomach and she had evidently been using his broad back as a pillow. His still sock-clad feet poked out from under the blanket, hanging over the end of the bed; the black socks clashed almost comically with the pasty-white of his legs.

Mary had just about convinced herself that the cry she'd heard had been a dream after all, when suddenly it sounded again, from somewhere down the hall. Marshall started awake this time, scrabbling up to a sitting position and grabbing for his gun. He also grabbed for his head, his sudden movement exacerbating the headache that pounded there.

There were raised voices followed by a crash from the same source as the screams. The disturbance could not be ignored; Mary vaulted out of the bed and rushed to the door, peering out the peephole as Marshall followed her. Seeing no one, she opened the door and crept down the hallway in the direction from which the sounds had come.

Suddenly, a door flew open to her right and the exiting party barreled into her, knocking her to the ground. Heart pounding, she regained her footing as quickly as possible, while Marshall's alarmed strides brought him to her side in an instant. The figure on the floor looked up, face to face with the barrel of her gun as the door fell shut on its own.

"Kitten! Am I ever glad to see you," Faber flashed a cheesy grin that seemed to hold some genuine relief as well. He sat on the hallway floor, wearing a bathrobe and who knew what underneath.

"You again?" Mary moaned; it was just her luck that she'd run into him. Marshall was still in his underclothes and she was in sleepwear. Faber would have a field day.

"What's with all the screaming?" Marshall asked, eyeing the doorway nervously.

"What's with your socks? You look like a schmuck," Faber countered with his usual eloquence.

Before Marshall could respond, the door flew open again, revealing Jinx in what appeared to be a full-blown, hangover-fueled rage. Faber opened his mouth, once more uttering the shrill, effeminate scream they'd heard earlier, and tried to bolt down the hallway only to find Marshall blocking his path.

"Keep your pants on, Faber," he commented blandly, squinting from his headache. "Figuratively speaking, of course."

"Why don't you go _put _your pants on, _literally _speaking?" Faber hissed. "And get me out of here!"

"Michael Faber!" Jinx shrilled. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Listen, Doll," Faber replied, flustered and grinning desperately, "you're great and everything, a real fun gal to hang around with, but marriage is something else entirely!"

"Don't you give me that 'Doll' crap," she cried hysterically, "or Baby or Dollface or Minx or any of it! You're going to run out, just like all the other men? I thought you were better than that!"

"Wait a minute," Mary spoke over them authoritatively. "Marriage? What the hell is going on here?"

Jinx held up a rumpled slip of paper, which looked and smelled to have had liquor spilled on it but was still legible.

Mary took it from her mother, reading it over twice before she spoke. "Is this what I think it is?" she whispered breathlessly. Marshall edged closer, looking over her shoulder curiously.

"If you're thinking it's a marriage license, signed and witnessed, that indicates your mother and Agent Faber here entered into the bonds of holy matrimony last night at the Heavenly Haven Discount Wedding Chapel, Funeral Home and Bingo Parlor, then, yes, it's exactly what you think it is," he informed her.

"Let me get this straight," Mary growled, turning to Faber. "You married my mother last night? Doesn't that make you, like, my step-father or something?"

"It does indeed," Marshall added, watching Faber squirm.

"Well, now, let's not get carried away," Faber hedged.

"And now you're trying to walk out on my mother, your new wife?" Mary continued as if she hadn't heard him.

"That's pretty low, even for you," Marshall chimed in, his lip curling in disgust.

"Look, Kitten, I know this looks bad," Faber shrank away from Mary in alarm as her expression morphed into something akin to demonic glee.

"Bad? Oh no, this isn't bad. This is _good,_" she said, grinning maniacally. "See, now she isn't my problem anymore. Now she has someone else to take care of her. She has _you._"

"Now, wait a minute," Faber whimpered, looking well and truly terrified, "I can't just be married like this, all of a sudden…"

"Don't think for a minute that you're getting out of this, Faber," she hissed. "Because if you walk out on her, you'll have to answer to _me."_

"Marshall! Come on, help out a friend here!" he cried desperately, grasping at straws.

"I'm not your friend," Marshall scoffed.

"Come on, get back in the honeymoon suite and take it like a man," Mary said, shoving him zealously toward the door and Jinx's waiting embrace.

"Help me!" he squealed one last time as Jinx latched onto him and pulled him inside. Mary just grinned while Marshall shook his head, a repulsed look on his face.

"Let's go pack, shall we?" Mary chirped brightly after tucking the marriage license under the door.

"No complaints here. I need to change my socks."

They headed back down the hallway, only to find their door locked.

"Did you grab the card key?" she asked her partner.

"Where would I put it?" he exclaimed, gesturing to his extremely limited clothing.

"Crap. One of us has to go down to the desk to get someone to let us in, while the other one waits here with the guns," she stated, chewing her lip thoughtfully. "Rock, paper, scissors?"

"Alright," Marshall shrugged, "but first… which one are you going to pick?"

* * *

**A/N: I think we all know Marshall's going to be the one going down to the desk, no matter how much he tries to head-game Mary. Also, Faber screams like a lady! =D**

**Let me know what you think... and, Part 3, anyone? **


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own IPS, and the reader reads at their own risk, so no lawsuits please! =D**

**Warning/Rating Change: The author would like to make the potential reader aware that there is sexual Fabinx content of a disturbing (read: kinda gross) nature in here, and for that reason and a touch of hotness toward the end, the rating is being bumped to M. Those willing to cry to the heavens, "Augh, my freakin' eyes!" please read on! =D**

**Author's Note: This was written for two reasons. I had planned to write a finale to this Fabinx arc due to the numerous requests I received for a mind-scarring Part Three, and that dovetailed nicely with the 12 Days of Christmas in July event on LJ which called for holiday-themed submissions. Thus, this fic was born... a month and a half ago. And it gets published here and now because I am finally done having writer's block on my other projects and obsessing over that. It was a long road that led us here (no, wait, it really wasn't!) but here we are. Enjoy the rotten, smelly fruits of my labors, and don't say I didn't warn you! =D**

* * *

**Unwelcome Surprises: A Fabinx Fic!**

**Part 3 - Thanksgiving is a Pie Holiday!**

Marshall smiled happily as he parked in front of Mary's house. Mary's Mustang and Jinx's land yacht were already pulled well up into the driveway; Brandi and Peter must not have arrived yet, unless they'd gotten a ride from Jinx, and Marshall was relatively certain that Peter at least had more sense than that. Ordinarily, Marshall would be less than thrilled to be asked to spend time in the presence of the entire clan of Shannon women, perhaps even downright wary, but this was different. This was Thanksgiving. What could go wrong? Thanksgiving was a pie holiday, after all, and pie made everything better.

He scooped up the bag that had ridden on the passenger seat next to him, carefully guarded at turns and braking: it contained three boxes, each housing a baked treasure of apple, pumpkin, and chocolate crème respectively. He'd had no plans for this particular Thanksgiving, but he'd bought the pies anyway because one never knew when one might receive a last minute invitation and it was best to be prepared, and he could always eat them himself if plans failed to present themselves. And, would you look at that, his preparedness had paid off, indeed.

Truthfully, he really should have questioned the wisdom of participating in a Shannon family holiday, but Mary had insisted that if she was to suffer through such an event, he would be suffering right by her side, and he'd been blinded by both chivalry and a desire to avoid spending the holiday alone.

He was blinded by something else shortly after he entered the house. There had been no response to his knock at the door so he'd used his key; Mary had mentioned she wanted to get a quick shower in before the festivities really got going, the better to present a clean slate should a food-fight erupt, and he'd assumed that was where she was as he let himself in. That expectation proved correct as he registered the sound of running water from the bathroom. What he had not expected as he rounded the corner into the kitchen, never in a million years and certainly not on Thanksgiving, a _pie holiday _for cryin' out loud, was to find himself staring directly into Mike Faber's ass.

Yet, that was exactly what happened. Marshall froze, paralyzed by horror as he fumbled mentally to comprehend what he was seeing. It was indeed, despite all rational arguments against the likelihood of such a thing, Faber's ass at which he was looking. An ass with what could only be deemed stripper shoes hovering above it; sluttish platform stiletto heels of a positively prostitute-worthy leopard print that he quickly realized were worn upon feet that were attached to hoary, old legs wrapped around Faber's waist… legs that could only belong to Jinx Shannon.

The pumping motion of the horrifying, brain-breaking ass before him ceased as an ear-splitting shriek rent the air, Jinx's voice, coupled with a strangled, retching cry that Marshall distantly realized was coming from his own throat. Faber looked over his shoulder with a leer as he realized he had an audience for his odious performance.

"Hey there, Marshall!" he sneered. "Enjoying the show?"

Marshall stood stock-still, unable either to reply or even to move. His eyes were glued to the panorama before him, the coupled bodies writhing on Mary's kitchen island seared into his brain. The bag of pies slipped unnoticed from his hand and plopped on the floor.

The shower noise had ceased, and a splapping sound heralded Mary's appearance as she bolted down the hall, clad in a towel, soaking wet, and gun in hand, obviously drawn by the screams. Once she saw Marshall, who seemed to be in some kind of shock but neither armed nor ready to defend himself, she stuck her weapon in the drawer of a side-table and made her way to the kitchen to see what kind of trouble had transpired in her brief absence. Her eyes widened in horror as she saw her mother and Faber in her kitchen, _her kitchen, _and subsequently they widened a little further as her wet feet lost traction on the floor.

It all happened in slow motion, or so it seemed to Marshall, who had finally registered his partner's presence. The bag containing the boxed pies caught on Mary's foot at she fell, sending it flying into the air. Mary vectored toward the floor and reached out to save herself, but to no avail; she hit the floor with a whump and the towel she'd been wearing, no longer held in place by her hand, sprang open like a New Year's confetti popper. The pie boxes emerged from the bag in midair, seeming to hang at their apex as the pies broke from their bonds and emerged. Faber's expression morphed into a bug-eyed leer, words to the effect of, "Ooh, Kitten, nice!" oozing like molasses from his grinning mouth hole as he stared. Marshall finally reacted, lunging to assist his partner even though she had already hit the ground, unable to completely process the fact that she was stark naked. A smacking sound rang through the room as Jinx decorated Faber's leering face with a slap that would leave a blistering red handprint. The pies, reclaimed by gravity once more, rained down in a shower of apple, pumpkin, and chocolate crème, splattering the back of Marshall's head and most of his naked partner beneath him.

Everything caught up as Marshall beached himself on top of her, his arms slipping under her shoulders to draw her to him protectively. He had no idea what had triggered a response that was more appropriate to protecting her from gunfire than falling pies; certainly nothing about this scenario warranted such cover, and moreover, she was naked under him, _naked, _he finally realized, and would very likely kill him momentarily. At least until then she would be safe from Faber's roving eyes, he thought, but really, this had to be the dumbest move he'd ever made.

Before anyone could make another move, the front door opened again, admitting Brandi first with Peter following directly behind her. She stopped up short with a startled gasp as she spotted Marshall on top of her sister. Marshall looked up at her with wide eyes and a frightened expression; Mary looked the new arrivals over with confusion as she was still trying to piece together what had happened and was considering that this might be some kind of weird dream, much like the one where she was back in college again, unprepared for a presentation in class and inexplicably nude. Faber and Jinx both glanced up as Brandi turned in their direction only to recoil in horror at the sight of her mother and Faber still coupled on the kitchen island, Faber's face reddened with a slap mark and his ass on display for all to see.

The timer dinged the turkey's readiness.

"Oh my god, Mom!" Brandi shrieked, looking at them all in turn again. "Mary! Marshall! Whatever the hell _that_ guy's name is! _What do you think you're doing?_"

"This isn't what it looks like," Marshall spluttered hastily.

"It's _exactly _what it looks like, Sweet Cheeks. I'm stuffing your mother's turkey," Faber said, directing a lewd grin at Brandi.

"Ugh! What is _wrong _with you people?" Brandi cried shrilly. "Come on, Peter, we're going!"

She turned to leave so quickly that the sweater tied preppishly around her shoulders flapped like a cape. Peter, his lips pressed together and his brow furrowed in a perplexed expression, gave everyone an awkward wave and followed her out. As the door closed, the pieces finally seemed to come together for Mary.

"Marshall," she said quietly, her voice low and edged with danger, "there had better be a really good reason why you're on top of me while I'm naked and covered with pie."

Marshall pulled back hastily, mouth opening to explain himself, but his explanation died in his throat. There they were: Mary's breasts, round and full and gloriously streaked with a veritable rainbow of pie. Speechless and unable to stop himself, he reached out a finger and drew it through a glop of chocolate filling.

"Oh, that is it!" Mary bellowed, shoving him off. She stood, scrabbling for her towel and managing to cover her pie-splattered body. She glared at her mother and Faber. "Listen up, both of you. I am getting back into the shower to wash off all this goddamned pie, and when I get out, neither of you are going to be here. Have I made myself understood?"

"Aww, come on, Kitten," Faber protested weakly. "It's just a little kitchen sex."

"Mary, you cannot speak to us that way," Jinx began, obviously preparing to play the wounded party.

Ignoring them completely, Mary turned to Marshall. "And you… you're not going anywhere. You're going to make sure they leave, clean up this mess, and pull that mother-humping bird out of the oven, because if I get screwed out of Thanksgiving dinner after all this, I'm going to be royally pissed!"

Marshall sat on the floor, staring helplessly after her as she stomped off to the bathroom. From the kitchen, he heard the merciful sound of Faber zipping up, and the pair brushed past him to the door with a nauseating comment about all the sex they'd have at Jinx's apartment.

Surveying the wreckage around him, he realized there was pie everywhere, on the floor, the walls, the furniture, and he could feel pie filling drying in his hair. His finger, he noticed, was still coated with the filling from the streak on Mary's chest. He glanced around furtively, though no one was there to see him, and with a guilty look on his face, he popped his finger into his mouth. As he savored the delicious sweetness, his expression transformed to one of pure bliss. He hefted himself up from the floor and went into the kitchen to see to the turkey.

* * *

Mary sighed as she looked at herself in the bathroom mirror, freshly showered again and finally devoid of pie. _Chalk up another Shannon holiday ruined, _she thought. She supposed that at this point in her life, it was naïve to expect anything else. No matter what happened, the three Shannon women would never be marching to the same beat; one of them would always be out of step, and that was that. This year it had been Jinx, as it often was, but it wasn't always. Some years it was Brandi instead, some years it was Jinx and Brandi together, and sometimes, though rarely, it was Mary herself who was out of line. Though she'd been blamed for spoiling more family get-togethers than she actually had, the truth was that even she had committed her share of ruination. There was nothing to do but let it go and move on.

Once she'd gotten dressed, she emerged and sought Marshall. She felt a burning shame flare in her cheeks when she thought of how she'd shouted at him; the entire debacle had been Faber and Jinx's fault, beyond a doubt, but certainly not Marshall's. As she passed through the hall, she was amazed at the fact that everything was nearly pristine. She had no doubt that a bit of pie filling would turn up here and there for a long time to come, because that was the nature of such messes, but had it been her cleaning it up, she would still be on her hands and knees with a bucket and a sponge. Her partner was nothing if not efficient. She smiled faintly; he was that, and so much more besides.

She found him in the kitchen, his sleeves rolled up and his hair spiky and wet. His jacket was nowhere to be seen; undoubtedly, he'd stashed it in a bag somewhere to keep it from spreading more pie-mess. Mary made a mental note to pay for the dry-cleaning, if the jacket could even be saved. To her surprise, in spite of the events that had transpired, Marshall didn't look that unhappy. Maybe the sight of Faber plowing her mother had finally broken him and he was no longer grounded in reality. She watched as he merrily heated some frozen vegetables in the microwave and opened a can of cranberry sauce, a grin spreading across his face as it slid from the can and maintained its shape. He poked it with a giggle and watched it jiggle on the plate.

"Um, Marshall… are you okay?" she asked, brow furrowed in concern.

"I'm fine," he replied as if he had no idea why she'd be asking. "Don't lean on the island. The bleach isn't dry yet."

"Can you bleach granite?"

"Can you afford _not _to bleach _that _granite?"

He eyed the island with distaste; Mary noticed there was no food anywhere near it. Her nose wrinkled in disgust.

"My point exactly," Marshall continued. "Besides, it was in solution with water. The granite should be okay. I'd still recommend that you never prepare food on it again, though."

Mary shrugged. "If I wrote off everything in this house that Jinx has had sex on, or in, I wouldn't have a washing machine, a dryer, a pool, or any furniture indoors or out. I wouldn't have a bathroom, either."

Her partner looked slightly green for a moment, then turned back to the spread of food on the counter, apparently opting to go on as if the incident had never occurred.

"The turkey came out well, there's cranberry sauce, and Brandi left with the green bean casserole but I found some broccoli in the freezer." The microwave beeped as the veggies finished. "There are also mashed potatoes on the stove."

"Yeah… about those… Faber kind of made them," she informed him with a wince.

Marshall's face went completely blank; he seemed unable to offer any kind of verbal response. Instead, he picked up the saucepan containing the potatoes by the handle, using a potholder, and dropped it straight into the trash.

"Hey! That's my pan!" Mary cried in dismay.

"I'll buy you a new one!" her partner replied, his voice taking on a steely yet desperate resolve.

She rolled her eyes as she fished the pan out of the trash can, scooped the potatoes out and discarded them, and began washing the pan in the sink.

"Make sure you wash it really well," he grumbled petulantly.

"Marshall, don't be silly," she scoffed. "We're not going to catch Faber herpes or anything."

Her partner eyed her pointedly, and with a grimace, she scrubbed the pan harder. He nodded his approval as she finished washing the pan and put it in the drying rack.

"Oh," he piped up with renewed enthusiasm as he turned back to the food, "I almost forgot. Half of the apple pie stayed in the box, so we have that too. Where do you want to start?"

Mary looked at the spread of food, which looked pretty amazing under the circumstances. A look at her partner, though, told her the poor man was barely keeping it together after the horror he'd witnessed, a condition which doubtlessly accounted for his odd shifts in mood. She couldn't blame him; she doubted there was anything in his upbringing that would have prepared him for that, which for her wasn't really that unusual of an occurrence. Even though he was in law enforcement and had, like herself, seen it all, it was wholly different when it involved people you actually knew. Taking all that into account, Mary decided a little TLC was in order.

"We start with the pie. And beer. Beer and pie."

A few minutes later, they were ensconced on the couch, cuddled together with pie and a bottle of beer each. Marshall was starting to feel better; such was the nature of pie, and beer certainly helped too, not to mention the fact that his partner was snuggled against him. He thought back on something else he'd seen earlier, and smiled.

"What are you thinking about?" Mary asked suspiciously. "You have that look you always get when you're being a pervert and you think no one else can tell."

"You really want to know?" he questioned, his eyebrow raised.

"I asked, didn't I?" she grumbled, becoming irritated.

"I just remembered that I saw your boobs earlier. And they were covered with pie."

Her fist contacted his arm with what felt like a little extra force.

"Ow!" he squealed, rubbing the offended flesh.

"Shut up and eat your pie," his partner smirked. "Pie makes everything better."

Marshall flicked some pie onto her face with his fork, giggling at her gape-mouthed expression of shock. Then, before she could regroup enough to hit him again, he leaned in and licked the smattering of pie from her cheek.

"Mmm," he purred in her ear. "You're right, it does. It really, really does."

Mary was surprised at Marshall's boldness; evidently, he really had finally snapped and thrown caution to the wind. His eyes were filled with heat and she was right there with him; Marshall was due for some sexual healing, and why should such things be left only in Faber and Jinx's domain, anyway? Those two were quickly forgotten in the flurry of heated kissing that followed, as was the turkey in the kitchen, and even the remainder of the pie where it sat abandoned next to their half-finished bottles of beer. Both partners were determined to make the holiday a memorable one, for a reason other than what they'd witnessed earlier, and the tension of the day gave way as each of them quested over the other with unfettered intent. Hands fumbled quickly to remove clothing as his lips found her neck; her fingers worked at his belt buckle with ease.

As he sank himself deep inside her at last, the couch creaking softly under them, her ragged moans filling his ears and his breath coming hot and hard against her neck, he reflected that he'd been right.

No Thanksgiving could really be that bad. After all, Thanksgiving is a pie holiday.

* * *

**A/N: You were warned! I told you it was nasty! And, yeah... after all that, I had to throw Marshall a little somethin'-somethin'. I'm just sayin'! =P**

**So come on and hit me with your best shot: review away! =D**


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